Christmas Wishes
by Vytina
Summary: Christmas wishes are big and small, far and far in between.  This year, a bit of luck and a rare opportunity will bring holiday joy to those who are crazy enough to wish for it.


**A/N: This is my offering in celebration of the Christmas season! It's not much, but I hope you all will enjoy it.**

**Title: Christmas Wishes**

**Summary: Christmas wishes are big and small, far and far in between. This year, a bit of luck and a rare opportunity will bring holiday joy to those who are crazy enough to wish for it.**

**Rating: T for mild suggestive content**

**Characters: Professor Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Alice Pleasance, and Iris DeLaine (OC)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman: The Animated Series or any associated characters. I only own my character(s) and the plot for this story.**

**Have a very MERRY CHRISTMAS! Drink egg nog, eat ham and pie, and be jolly!**

_

* * *

December 24__th__, 1:30 PM – Gotham Square_

The snow always falls in different ways.

Sometimes it is a light powder that falls but never remains. Sometimes it is a damp, wet snow that soaks streets, sidewalks, and rooftops alike, and will turn into a solid sheet of ice once the night comes. And sometimes, it is a different kind of snow that falls from grey skies: fat, heavy flakes that would surely possess an intricate beauty to them—if one was able to get close enough to properly examine them. Their descent from the decidedly colorless heavens is slow, deliberate and yet carefree. They have their own way about them, falling at their own page without being in any kind of real hurry to meet their fellows on the blanketed ground.

It is this kind of snow that is the most admirable. It is the kind that many enjoy staring at from the comfort of their homes or while walking down the sidewalk. It is a graceful sight, the flakes dancing down to land on a cheek or a few loose strands of hair. Those that do not land upon passerby will continue their descent to a thick covering that has already accumulated on the ground. In some areas, the white blanket has been trampled and disturbed, but it remains pristine, flawless in other places.

December has arrived, and with it all of the excitement and fervor of the holidays.

A pair of snowflakes spiral down, finding a resting place on a slender gloved finger, melting after the briefest moment into the black leather. A single blue eye blinked at the vanishing little crystals before lowering the hand back down. A light breeze blew past her, rustling the lapels of her leather trench coat. A low sigh escaped dark lips, escaping as a frozen puff of air. Across the street, she watched two children run merrily, clutching a small array of shopping bags. Behind them, a man and woman—the loving parents, no doubt—called after them, both smiling without any trace of scolding in their tones.

It was the ideal family scene—a mother and father taking their young children out on the town to see the Christmas lights and experience all the joys that Christmas brings.

All the overpriced, commercialized, modern-day materialistic joys of the Christmas season.

"Iris!"

Another cheerful voice ran out, clearer and more distinct than others. The named woman turned, finding another young woman, this one five years older than herself, exiting the department store with her arms laden with shopping bags of all sizes and colors. Her soft black pea coat and bright purple scarf against a pink cheeks and a head of blonde curls framing vibrant blue eyes made her quite the embodiment of holiday cheer.

Alice hurried toward her sister, bags swaying to and fro like a pendulum. "Isn't this exciting?" she beamed, her eyes positively glowing, "I'm sure I've spent far too much on gifts, but I can't help it! I just _love_ this time of year." After adjusting her bags, the blonde started down the street beside her dark-haired companion. "And we're going to have such fun decorating the house tonight, aren't we, Iris? We'll decorate the house and the tree, and then we can make the Christmas dinner! I think we should prepare all the cold dishes first—the cranberry sauce (which won't be at all difficult to make) and the fruit and the relish dishes—and then they can wait in the refrigerator and keep just fine. And then we can make the hot dishes tomorrow—the ham and potatoes and dressing (if we want it) and the corn and the steamed vegetables and so on. And we have to set out enough time for desserts! Of course, you _insist_ on keeping yours a secret, again! Not that I'm complaining of course, because you do make the most delectable dishes and I'm sure it will be—Iris?"

The blonde paused, looking up at her sister (younger, but alas, forever taller) with concern, "Iris, what's wrong? You haven't said a word all day, and you really didn't even seem that excited to go Christmas shopping to begin with. What's wrong?"

"Forgive me, Alice," Iris answered quietly, "But I trust that you of all people should understand that this holiday has held no meaning for me since I was a child." Her eyes drifted over to a nearby market, where two women had engaged themselves in a vicious fight over a large ham. "And I don't enjoy seeing how this holiday has been stripped of all tradition and has instead become a competition between neighbors regarding who can smother their lawn with more lights and decorations."

"Oh, Iris, don't be such a Grinch!" Alice scoffed, "This is Christmas—a time for giving and being with family and friends!"

"And the last Christmas I spent with _family_," Iris replied shortly, "was at a fashion show in England. Dad gave Mother all the pearls and diamonds she could ask for, Mother gave herself a two day-long spa treatment without the burden of her doting husband, and I was left in the hotel to entertain myself. No gifts, no tree, no family time."

"That's all in the past, Iris!" her older sister protested, "_This_ is now—a new time of your life where you don't have to worry about your mother, or our father, or anyone else! It's going to be just the two of us, celebrating a brand-new life together. And we'll start by making some Christmas memories just for us! Oh, Iris, _please_ try to get in the holiday spirit! I can't celebrate without you!"

Her sister's pleading got a small smile out of Iris. Her thin shoulders shrugged lightly as she helped Alice load the bags into the back seat of the car, then climbed into the driver's seat. "You're quite convincing when you're in the mood to plead for something, Alice. Admirable that you don't use it more often…I believe you'd get everything you want and much, much more if you did."

"Does that include getting to drive my sister's car?" she offered innocently, eyeing the wheel hopefully.

"Nice try," Iris returned with a playful smirk, turning out of the parking lot and onto the main street, "I already told you, Alice: no one else drives my car. I bought this vehicle with my own money, I have taken good care of it, and I take _no_ risks with my property."

Alice's quivering lip did not sway her sister in the slightest. A low huff and mildly-irritated scowl replaced the pout in a matter of seconds. "I think you're a bit obsessive over your property, Iris."

"You call it possessive." She replied with a saucy wink, turning toward the grocery store, "I call it protective."

_

* * *

2:00 PM – Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_

Walls normally barren and lifeless were strewn with all manner of cheap decorations—garland sporting bald patches over the wire and light strings that blinked wearily at the individuals passing through the halls. The various offices were decorated with more of the same—the amount of décor varied by the doctor's personal preference. One could easily suspect the faculty lounge was positively overflowing with ornaments and style, no doubt thanks to the interns—easily the most excited about the whole ordeal surrounding the holidays. The doctors were perhaps a different story—Bartholomew had been seen donning a brightly colored hat, complete with a tiny string of lights circling around the cone-shaped garment. Dr. Leland, on the other hand, had been decidedly somber regarding the cheerful atmosphere around her, still wearing her crisp attire and maintaining a professional attitude during sessions.

Professor Jonathan Crane would be deemed a liar if he denied his intrigue with his doctor's behavior. And it wasn't just a lack of Christmas cheer in her attitude, but also in the décor permitted in her office. She had been seen (personally) by several of the inmates directing the interns out of her dwelling, wearing an unusually displeased expression that one wouldn't expect during the holidays. As a psychologist himself, it could only be natural that he would wish to inquire into the good doctor's distain toward the holiday season.

As it were, he wasn't a man particularly invested in the Christmas season. His childhood certainly hadn't been filled with bright, cheerful Christmas mornings, with presents and gingerbread houses and snowball fights and building snowmen in the yard, as he witnessed in the lives of many other children. As a professor, he had perhaps grown a certain dislike for the holiday, at least in some regards. Bearing witness to college women dressed in the attire of Christmas-themed harlots and trolling around campus for young men to "warm them up" with holiday _spirits_ was quite more than enough to leave a bitter taste in anyone's mouth, especially one such as he—one who did not hold humanity in any particularly high regard.

"Is there anything else you wish to talk about, Professor?" Leland inquired, looking both exasperated _and_ tired. For a moment, he considered replying that he would be interested in talking about her lack of holiday spirit, but thought better of it. Any good psychotherapist would easily turn that line of questioning back around at him, and for all else he may have thought of Joan Leland, she was _well_ above average at her job. Only a woman with her admittedly-acceptable skills would have lasted this long at Arkham.

"No, Dr. Leland," he finally answered with a neutral expression, "There is nothing more I wish to discuss."

"If I may speak frankly, Professor Crane," she returned, folding her hands tightly over her desk and meeting his gaze with a decidedly frosty look, "We have not _discussed_ anything of value—to either myself or you—in the last two weeks."

He blinked, considering this for a moment before nodding. "I do suppose you are correct, Doctor."

Her jaw tightened slightly. "Even if you are a particularly difficult patient to attempt _any_ kind of therapeutic treatment with, Professor, you are usually compliant in at least making conversation. Over the last two weeks, you have sat in that chair and stared at me. The most I have gotten out of you is a nonchalant shrug or comment. Would this happen to be connected in any way to Christmas' approach?"

Another blink, "I might be willing to answer such a question, Dr. Leland," he replied with a polite smile (never a particularly pleasant thing to see), "if my doctor would be just as willing to share with me the cause of her sudden…shall I say, displeasure? Would the holiday season be the reason?"

The doctor paused, then slowly leaned back in her chair with a reluctant gesture of surrender. "Well played, as always, Professor. Our session is concluded. I will see you after the holiday."

"If I may be so forward, Doctor," the professor answered as he stood, his hands at his side, "It is only you who celebrates this holiday. The rest of us are no longer afforded such a luxury."

The recreation room thrummed with a light buzz, as it always did. Waylon was seated on the floor—not due to a lack of furniture to sit upon, but for some reason known only to him—looking absently through a wrestling magazine. Harleen and Pamela were on the couch, watching a Christmas cooking special on TV. The redhead wasn't paying too much attention to the program, but instead focused on a small potted plant on the side table. The blonde was curled up against her companion's torso, her attention divided between the television and the strands of fiery hair she was currently playing through her fingers.

Beside the couch, Arnold Wesker and Scarface were seated, the puppet eyeing the feast being prepared on the television and occasionally throwing comments like, "Who taught that bum to cook a goose?" and "Forget wine—pull out the malt liquor, ya dummy!"

Seated on the smaller couch up against the far wall, Edward Nygma and Harvey Dent faced each other, cards in hand while they played a game of Black Jack. This game, it would appear, had stakes involved, and there could be no doubt the bounty was Nygma's reputation as "King of any and all games". The puzzle master's brow was furrowed in concentration, while Dent looked remarkably calm and at ease. His coin was nowhere to be seen, probably tucked away in the pocket of his uniform.

The professor's attention, however, was focused on locating one and only one person among the array present in the room. And he found him rather quickly—the top hat would give him away even in the densest of crowds.

Jervis Tetch looked up at the sound of his name, a broad smile coming to his face as he drew out a chair for his companion. "Ah, Jonathan, you return at last." He gestured to the seat, which Crane accepted, and nudged one last piece of the chess set back into precision before the game was to begin. "How was your meeting with our dear doctor? Is she still of the decidedly mimsy demeanor as she has been of late?"

"More than usual, it would seem." The professor replied, a pair of long fingers shifting a pawn forward two spaces before settling back in the chair. "The true source of her yuletide distress is quite an intriguing mystery. It does me a great disservice to not know it."

"Now, now, Jonathan…let the lady have her own business." Jervis replied, moving his own pawn forward, "It is the season to _give_, not receive."

"A very well-placed comment, Tetch," came the dry reply, "But you should know that this holiday holds no meaning for me whatsoever."

"I find that hard to believe, Jonathan." Jervis replied, looking completely calm (and rather cheerful), "Am I to believe that you haven't a single cheerful memory regarding the Christmas season?"

"That would be correct."

"Not even during your quiet days as a professor at our fair university?" the scientist inquired, smiling knowingly.

The hand paused before moving his second pawn into place, "Beg pardon, Tetch?"

"I believe you understood me quite clearly, my dear professor." He replied pleasantly, moving a knight into play. "During all those years—dark and dreary as they were—do you mean to tell me there isn't a single ray of light to shine upon your memories of the Christmas season? Not even so much as a pretty little flower that happened upon your way?"

The professor's expression began to change, the tight lines of his face slowly fading away to a softer, lighter look. With a careful gesture, he moved a third pawn to join its fellows, facing his opponent's knight silently. "And if I were to discuss this flower that fell upon my path, Tetch," he answered smoothly, "would you be just as considerate and generous with your tales of the past? Perhaps a lovely young doll that you happened upon in your day?"

Blue eyes twinkled slightly beneath the brim of his hat. "Very well, Jonathan…if you wish to play this game, I shall expect full compensation."

A smile—twisted and perhaps sinister, but a smile all the same—formed on the professor's thin lips. "As you wish, Tetch." He watched the Hatter move the Knight forward, and then calmly conquered with a Bishop, freed by his third pawn. Setting the slain figure down upon the table, he lifted his eyes to the Hatter's face.

"You first."

_

* * *

6:30 PM – DeLaine Residence_

"As your older sister, I am commanding that _you_ go first."

"And as your beloved baby sister and _owner of this house_," Iris replied briskly, balancing grocery bags on her hip while unlocking the garage door, "I simply _insist_ that you go first."

"Age before beauty." Alice returned.

"Then under both criteria, you would be deemed eligible for going _first_, wouldn't you, darling?" Iris smiled brightly at her sister as she strolled down the hallway into the kitchen. Alice followed her with a determined expression that perhaps might border on classification as _scowling_.

"Iris, I mean it! I know you are keeping a Christmas story from me, and I want to know it!"

"Then I wouldn't be keeping it from you anymore, would I?" she replied, moving to put the groceries out on the counter (or in the refrigerator), "And where would be the fun in that?"

"_Iris…_!"

The dark-haired teen rolled her eyes, turning to face her sister with an exasperated and highly amused smirk, "I swear, Alice Pleasance, you are worse than Harleen when you want to know something." She moved over to the staircase. "Alright…come upstairs with me and get changed. And once we're back downstairs, I will tell you the whole story—"

"Oh, Iris…I—"

"—_after_ you tell me your story."

"…you are a conniving little demon, do you know that?"

Iris threw her a wink and smile before strolling up the stairs. "Flattery isn't going to stop you from going first, sis."

* * *

"It was the annual Christmas Eve party at the office—Mr. Wayne insisted all his employees celebrate the holiday, though he never seemed to celebrate it himself." Alice carefully peeled the potatoes as she spoke, her attention seemingly divided between her task and her story, but Iris strongly suspected her _real_ focus was on the latter. "Dr. Cates never attended the parties, which I think was a great relief to most of the others. At least, I know it was for Jervis…he could get a little bit of work done without her interrupting every five minutes." She paused to retrieve another potato before continuing, "Anyway, I had watched Jervis lock himself up in his office for five years straight, never taking a moment away from his work no matter the occasion or event. And this year, I wasn't about to let that happen again."

"Aren't you the poster child for the holiday season?" Iris teased playfully, washing an array of fruit at the sink.

Alice rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Maybe I am, but I'm also a _persistent_ poster child. And it worked quite nicely, even if it did take me near of an hour to pull him out of his office and into the lobby." She shook her head with a smile at the memory. "He was protesting all the way, saying he had work to finish, that it was important and needed to be completed as soon as possible, that he couldn't delay, and so on. I told him there was nothing so important that he couldn't wait to finish it until after the holiday. And I forbade him to do any work over Christmas Day. Admittedly," she added with a more serious look on her face, "I thought he had a family to go home to—or at least a wife. I suppose a lack of a wedding ring should have tipped me off, but—not that I was looking for one!"

Her protest came one second too late. Iris smiled broadly (wickedly could perhaps be a better term), fingering a grape in a way that should not have been as suggestive as it was. "Of course not, dearest Alice…" she crooned, "It would have been perfectly improper for a young, vivacious secretary such as yourself to be casting a hopeful glance upon your quietly respectable, middle-age employer."

The blonde's answer was a short glare before continuing, "At any rate, I would like to think he enjoyed himself that night. He never was social with his coworkers, but I promised myself I wouldn't let him be alone and I stayed true to my word. Even thought we kept to ourselves most of the night…I enjoyed myself. Of course…he only wanted to know about _my_ life and didn't seem keen on sharing much of his own life."

"Knowing you," Iris commented with a smile, "You kept pressing for any kind of details he would give you—eager thing you are, wanting to know _everything_ about your shy employer."

"He's not so shy anymore." she noted, "I wonder if it's been a relief for him to…change careers as he has."

"You'll have to ask him one of these days." Iris replied, offering her sister a small patch of grapes before taking some for herself. "But surely you wouldn't leave your baby sister hanging on this tale of Christmas joy and wonder without knowing just what made it so _memorable_, would you?"

Alice paused in the process of lifting a grape to her lips, a new look coming to her face. It was a look Iris could only recall seeing once before…on her own face.

"The office was fully decorated, as I'm sure you could imagine." She murmured, lowering her hand back to the counter, "Every kind of Christmas symbol hung from the walls _and_ the ceiling. There was one decoration in particular that…well, Jervis found himself underneath—it was completely innocent, I know. He was simply trying to get more punch, and I happened to look up. I don't know why…I just started giggling—oh, it was so embarrassing! Laughing like a school girl with a crush…" a soft pink blush steadily came over her cheeks (Iris personally thought it was a lovely shade), "And the poor man didn't understand what I was laughing about, until I managed to pull myself together long enough to point up. And when he did…how red is my face, Iris?"

The named woman merely shook her head with a smile, "Only pink, Alice…though I'm guessing _his_ turned crimson in a matter of seconds."

"Scarlet," Alice nodded, her smile growing wider, "And he was just stammering and looking so flustered. I didn't know what—if anything—would calm him down, but I wanted to try something. Although…" she added as an afterthought, "I'm not entirely sure I can honestly say I ever believed this _would_ calm him down…I just…wanted to do it."

"And just what did you do?" Iris inquired, looking as though she'd already guessed the answer.

* * *

"…I wasn't entirely sure it had happened at first, and I most assuredly wasn't expecting it…but when I raised my hand to my cheek, and felt her lipstick there…I knew it was real."

Jonathan found himself struggling to take both the words coming out of Tetch's mouth _and_ the absurdly dreamy expression lingering over the Hatter's features seriously. With a very carefully timed roll of the eyes, he nudged the bishop forward to claim a pawn. "No doubt it was the highlight of your yuletide cheer." He commented dryly, "Allow me to extend my congratulations on your triumph, Tetch. And you didn't even need your chips for it." As he tucked the pawn away, he added, "Check."

Blue eyes narrowed slightly at him. "There is no need for that kind of tone, Jonathan. I would never dream of being so insulting toward your tale of Christmas past."

"If you value your well-being, you will most assuredly do just that." The professor answered, a tiny smile twitching up the corner of his mouth. "My previous statement, however, was quite sincere, Tetch. I've no doubt Miss Pleasance's kiss made your trek into the dangerous path of mistletoe quite worth the while."

"Quite so, quite so…" the scientist replied, nudging his King out of danger, "Now then, Jonathan…it is _your_ turn to divulge such a tale, and I expect you to be as forthcoming and honest with me as I have been with you."

"You set your demands high."

"The season of giving and receiving, Jonathan." Jervis replied smoothly, "Start at the beginning, and go until you reach the end, if you please."

A thin mouth turned up in what could be identified (more or less) as a smile. Thoughtfully sliding a knight across the board, the professor finally spoke. "Very well." His tone was low and nostalgic, "It was just after final examinations had ended for the winter break at the university. As usual, I was the last to leave the building, which afforded me some peace and quiet while I left the campus grounds. As I was on my way, I happened upon a rather intriguing sight…"

_

* * *

Snow fell quietly from the grey skies, tiny crystals of white trickling down to lie upon the blanketed grounds. Worn shoes, light brown with darker laces, made all efforts to avoid stepping in more of the powdery piles dotted along the sidewalk. A thin hand drew the threadbare coat tighter around the professor's body, dark eyes trained ahead of him, peering carefully through the snow for any patches of ice lying in wait._

_He did not find any ice traps, but he did find something even more interesting._

_He was quite familiar with students skipping and frolicking through the snow-covered grass fields, throwing snowballs at each other, stuffing the icy powder down each other's shirts, and of course, dropping down to roll about like a bunch of young pups. But with the students already gone from the premises, and fresh snow falling since earlier in the day, the fields were pristine, a blanket of flawless white stretching across the campus. It was like something one would expect to find on a holiday greeting card, a photograph to express the true beauty of the winter season._

_But his attention was not on the perfection of the scene…as much as it was on the young woman standing before him._

_Her dark hair falling freely down her back, speckled with white snow, Iris stood perfectly still in the middle of the field. Her head was lifted toward the skies, eyes closed with a calm look upon her face. A soft wind brushed past her, teasing her hair and coat before allowing them to lie still once more. _

_The professor indulged himself a little while longer, admiring the profile view of his student—her willowy build dressed in denim and a black coat, the sculpt of her shoulders, rolled back gracefully in her stance, and the soft touch of white crystals in her hair and upon her pale cheeks. She looked serene, content and collected—a demeanor which was rarely seen from her. But of course, her entire behavior at this moment was unusual, or at least _he_ had never seen it before._

"_Iris?"_

_His voice seemed to shake her out of the trance. Her eyes opened, turning to find her professor beside her. "Good afternoon, Professor Crane." She murmured respectfully, gracing him with a small smile before lifting her hand to her brow, brushing a few flakes away. "I thought you would be home already."_

"_I'm always the last to leave, Iris. You of all people should know that."_

_Her smile grew playful. "Indeed I would…" she winked at him._

"_I, on the other hand, might have thought you would be quite exhausted with this place by now." he continued, blinking away a particularly adventurous snowflake. "Or are you not packed yet?"_

"_I am packed and retired from the dormitory." She replied, "But I have no great urge to return to my house at present. You of all people, Professor, should know that."_

_He nodded slowly, "My apologies." He murmured, lifting his eyes to the sky briefly, "Have you found an apartment yet?"_

"_Actually, I'll be moving into a townhouse." Iris answered, "My hope is to find a roommate soon, but in the meantime, I'll have no trouble maintaining the place myself. It isn't as though I haven't cleaned entire mansions before." Her voice lowered on that final thought, a dark look passing over her opaque features for a passing moment, then vanishing as quickly as it had come._

"_I didn't know you were so enamored of snow." Jonathan observed, noting the small smile the came over her lips with a tiny thrill._

"_Normally, I'm not. It's too clean…too perfect…too white." She released a low sigh in a tiny puff of cold air, "But for some reason, it seems almost refreshing today. I suppose it has something to do with being free of the dorms for the rest of my college career. Now at least I can hang any fraternity rat who ventures onto my property. If they think I'm too afraid too nail them with trespassing, they are gravely mistaken."_

"_Be wary, Iris," a thin smile twisted his lips, the amusement he was deriving from her vindictive satisfaction all too apparent, "You may take your newfound power to the extreme levels."_

"_Then I will be granting myself a touch of vengeance." Iris' smile grew slightly wicked, "Stick them with as many trespassing or harassment charges as I possibly can, and if they try to take me before court…" she sighed again, stretching her arms high above her head with that sinfully delighted expression, "I will be more than happy to explain to their rich daddies why a frightened little teenager is so determined to keep them __**far**__ away from her property…and her physical being."_

_A long arm slid around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. "You are quite the spiteful thing when you want to be, aren't you?" he noted softly, a finger idly brushing a snowflake away from her lips. The finger in question took, perhaps, far too long to accomplish its task, and returned to linger over her warm skin. "I don't seem to recall seeing this side of you before."_

"_It's good to know there are still some things that I can still use to surprise you, Professor." She replied, "I had almost lost the hope."_

_His index hooked under her chin, thumb brushing her lower lip with a possessive air. "I believe," his voice lowered, "I gave you permission to address me by another name, Iris."_

_Her exposed eyelid lowered most appealingly as her mouth curved into a smile. "I can accommodate your wish." She answered, "If there is something else you will bestow upon my lips…Jonathan."_

_The fresh falling snow and barren trees of the courtyard were the only witnesses to their embrace, and to the whispered plea she breathed into his ear when her lips were once again free._

* * *

"That winter season was the last we spent together in peace." Iris murmured quietly, her eyes gazing far beyond the kitchen walls and rolling hills of their property. "He was fired the following February."

Alice felt a few tears welling up in her eyes—a reaction that had become nearly instinctual whenever she heard Iris speak of the professor in such a low voice. Wiping away the early foundations of her remorse, she smiled at her sister. "That was beautiful, Iris...I wish I could make this Christmas just as special as that one, but…"

A hand touched her shoulder, soft and nearly tender. "We can make it special in our own way, Alice…one way or another." Iris smiled at her sister before straightening up. In the meantime, we have more hours of cooking than remain in the day ahead of us. Let's move it!"

_

* * *

7:30 PM _

"My word, Jonathan," Jervis shook his head as he joined the professor against the wall, the pair ninth and tenth in the line of inmates being escorted back to their cells after a less-than-edible Christmas dinner, "I always heard of that children's tale of _Green Eggs and Ham_, but I was hardly aware the 'green' applied to the _ham_."

"I assure you, Tetch," Jonathan answered dryly, "nor was I. It has always been my experience that the color of ham was pink, with perhaps a touch of red. It would behoove us if someone would pass such knowledge along to the individuals who are responsible for feeding us." A look that, on anyone else _except_ Jonathan Crane, could be deemed as dreamy passed over his face as he added, "By God, there is very little action I would _not_ consider taking to be back in Iris' kitchen right now. When she stayed at my house on those rare and blessed occasions, she always cooked for me. No one living or deceased can fix a five-course meal like that woman can—meat, potatoes, salads, fruit platters, and of course, her dessert dishes…"

"Jonathan, stop it…" the Hatter sighed, leaning up against the wall, "You're making me positively salivate just thinking about it. If, of course, it could be follow by a nice cup of tea."

"She'll give you all the tea you crave, Tetch…especially now that your Miss Pleasance is living with her. I am under the impression she's even more of a tea-drinker than you are."

Jervis nodded, a rather dreamy smile coming over his face. "Indeed…to share a cup with dear Alice while watching the snow falling outside the window…"

"A regular winter Wonderland, no doubt…" Jonathan muttered, rolling his eyes slightly. "Iris is more content to remain in front of a burning fire with a book…or just spend the whole day in bed." He added with a twisted little smile.

The Hatter released a low, mournful sigh. "Alas, we are forced to endure our cruel fate—to be trussed up in this mimsy place, unable to create new holiday memories to hold and to cherish, to love and honor…"

"Save your recitations until you buy a ring _and_ have her consent, Tetch." The professor cut in. Jervis turned to deliver an indignant protest and found his friend's expression to be utterly content…and cunning.

"Jonathan…?" Jervis shook his head, attempting to appear collected and not as bewildered as he currently was, "Surely you would not deprive a man of a fond dream, least of all on Christmas Eve!"

"Rest assured, Tetch," the tall man breathed, his dark eyes gleaming as he spoke, "You will have your fondest dream…and plenty of new Christmas memories to hold and cherish to your heart's deepest desire. All you must do," his voice lowered for the Hatter's ears only, "is to follow and not ask questions."

_

* * *

8:00 PM_

"And you mean to tell me they require you to work this _egregious_ shift on _Christmas Eve_?"

The scene unfolding directly across from his cell was of absolute interest to Jervis Tetch. Naturally, he had witnessed Jonathan's skills when it came to invoking fear in others—guards, orderlies, doctors, the whole lot of them—by way of nothing more than his words. Oh, the rest of Gotham might have considered the professor utterly useless without his toxins and formulas, but Jervis knew better—insider knowledge, one might consider it. Jonathan Crane was a trained psychologist, and while there could be no question that _fear_ was the primary focus of his research and knowledge, that did not render him inept at drawing out other tidbits of information from anyone and anything. Jervis was personally convinced the professor could make a tree stump spill its deepest, darkest secrets to him.

As there were no tree stumps present, a highly depressed (and currently intoxicated) guard served just as well to prove Jervis' suspicions true.

"Sure thing…" the guard—one Fonders by name, a particularly heavy-set man of fifty years with a balding head and rather frazzled beard—nodded with a poorly stifled hiccup, "Got to let my poor Sally deal with the kids and the grandkids all on her own—not to mention clean the house and fix the food and pick up after the young ones…so much for the holiday spirit."

"Now, now," Jonathan shook his head in a highly convincing manner while he sat upon his cot, watching the guard fumble with the burned-out bulb on his nightstand. The cuffs clinked quietly when he shifted his wrists, "That's simply no way to look at the holiday season, Mr. Fonders. You only need a little Christmas joy to make yourself feel better. Have you spoken with someone who would be willing to trade shifts with you? I'm sure they would understand."

"Tried that…" he shook his head tiredly with another hiccup, "No one would hear nothing of it. I'm on my own this year…guess I'll have to make the best of things…somehow." He added with a distinct sniffle.

Jervis found himself highly impressed at how sincere Jonathan's face appeared. "Oh, I can quite sympathize with you, my good man." He sighed quietly (a fine touch, Jervis noted to himself), "I am also to spend yet another Christmas to myself, without the pleasure that but one and only one person in Gotham can provide."

Fonders lifted his head from the nightstand, considering him with blurred eyes, "You got yourself a nice girl somewhere, Professor?"

"The only girl in all of Gotham," the professor nodded slowly, giving the air of a man deeply in mourning for this loss, "who can bring the joys of the holiday into an old man's life. She's quite the light of my life, you see…and it is on this day of all three-hundred and sixty-five that I miss her most."

"Quite…quite a girl, she must be." Fonders nodded in return, looking utterly mesmerized to be privileged with such knowledge (surely the doctors had never gotten this kind of detail from him?), "What's her name? If you don't mind me asking." He added quickly, looking mildly fearful of such questioning.

The professor gestured away his concerns with what could have passed as a genuine smile, "A rather ironic name, all things considered," he answered, "Dorothy…Dorothy Irving. We met back in childhood, you see. She has been the one person from my past who has never given up on me. Our times together were wonderful, make no mistake, but none compare to the Christmases we spent together. I was only able to spend one last holiday with her before my dismissal from the university. I was forbidden to see her afterward—she was also employed at the college, you see. I believe the director filed a restraining order against me on her behalf, though I would like to think she had no part in it."

The guard shook his head, tears coming to his eyes, "That's terrible!"

Jonathan sighed quietly, shaking his head, "I do believe my Christmas miracle—if you believe in them—would be to spend just one more Christmas with her…my dearest Dorothy."

Fonders sniffed again, more pronounced this time as he dabbed as the tears with the sleeve of his uniform. A moment passed, silence hanging over all as the guard's watery vision focused on his belt. A quiet hiccup followed, and the elder's hand went for the keys.

"Now…I ain't supposed to be passing out no favors…" his speech was heavily slurred, the intoxication all too apparent now, "But it _is_ Christmas, and I reckon you ought to have something nice. Just…" he faltered only a moment as the cuffs fell apart, as though waiting for the professor to attack. Such action never came, as the red-haired man simply nodded politely, waiting for the guard to continue, "You just be sure to be back by the 26th, alright?"

Jonathan inclined his head. "Most assuredly, my dear fellow," he smiled quietly, "If only you will have yourself an equally cheerful holiday. _Try_ to go home and tend to your family. It is Christmas, after all."

From his cell, Jervis watched the good man leave the professor, still dabbing at his eyes with his cuff. Jonathan Crane slipped idly from his cell, calmly adjusting his sleeve just so…before withdrawing a small pair of pins. He calmly slipped them into the lock on Jervis' cell and had it open in a matter of seconds.

"There are rare times when I can appreciate the compassion that comes from the heart of an intoxicated man, Tetch." Jonathan mussed quietly, tucking the pins away with a calm, wicked smile. "This, most assuredly, is one of them."

_

* * *

9:45 PM – DeLaine Residence_

"Iris! Iris, Iris, Iris! Come quick!"

"The way you're yelling like that, Alice," the woman in question replied, stepping around the corner, wiping her hands off after tucking the food away in the (blessedly) large refrigerator, "I might think there was some intruder breaking into our house."

"I'll not hear any of that, thank you kindly!" Alice dismissed, "Look! It's snowing!"

Iris' brow lifted, moving beside her older sister to look out the window. The sky was pitch black now, but under the brightly colored lights they had hung earlier, there was no mistaking the fresh descent of tiny white crystals.

"Well, well…" Iris' mouth curved in a smile, "How can you beat that?"

"Oh, this is wonderful!" Alice beamed, "We'll really going to have a white Christmas! I was so worried it wouldn't continue after the snow stopped earlier, but my faith is restored!"

"Congratulations." Iris laughed softly, tussling her sister's hair playfully, "I'm going upstairs to get some sleep, since my dearest sister will be up at the break of dawn to get me up tomorrow. Try to not spend _all_ night staring at the snow."

"Good night, Iris!" Alice smiled, watching her sister ascend the stairs before turning back to the window, eyes wide and enraptured. A soft, content sigh passed her lips as she leaned up against the wall, her silk robe drawn tightly by the belt around her hips.

"Lost in the looking glass, Miss Pleasance?"

The sensation that filled her in that moment was surreal. Her entire body felt strangely light, as though she were suddenly floating—or falling, or perhaps in a strange way, she was both floating and falling. Her heart thrummed at the voice, at the warmth that flooded her from the inside out. She felt ridiculously, absurdly free at the simple sound of a voice—not just any voice, no…no ordinary voice could make her feel these things. Only the voice of one man…and it was definitely not the man who she was supposed have married two years ago.

She turned around, her soft blue eyes finding another pair, just as blue as hers…and yet she had always found them far more expressive than her own could ever hope to be.

"Jervis…" she whispered, letting her eyes look him over. He was thin—far thinner than he'd been the last time she'd seen him, and she most assuredly did _not_ like seeing him this way. They clearly were not feeding him or nurturing him in any other way at the asylum, and she felt a rather absurd anger rise within her at the thought of Jervis not being tended to as he deserved.

"Good evening, my dear," he answered, removing his hat (polite as always) and bowing his head in greeting, "You look…lovely."

She felt a warm thrill run through her at his compliment. And she did not bother to deny just how much receiving such a compliment from him while she was in her night clothes excited her.

"How did you…?" the words fell rather lifeless on her tongue, but he thankfully did not need her to continue. No doubt, he had anticipated her question.

"I have talents of my own," he answered with a mildly dramatic bow that made her laugh softly, "And for those talents which I lack, I have who possess."

"Utilizing your connections to the fullest." Alice noted, "How very resourceful of you, Mr. Tetch."

He bowed again, twirling his hat with a flourish before straightening once more. "I thank you for such generous words, my dear."

"I speak nothing but the truth." She answered, moving toward him. "Flattery would imply a kind of exaggeration or dishonesty, of which there exists none in my words."

"You speak the truth with the tongue of a nymph, dear Alice." He murmured, and her heart raced as she felt his eyes linger on the way her robe highlighted the curves of her waist and legs.

"Now who is speaking flattery, Jervis?" she smiled coyly, drawing even closer to him. Their bodies were less than a foot apart, and the sensations only grew stronger within her body. Billy Reynolds had _never_ been able to do half of these things to her—to her mind or her body…or her heart.

It was incredible.

"Truth," he corrected, but the smile had left his face, now replaced by a very, very different look. It was a look that should _not_ have done half of the things it did to her—especially (God help her) her body—but it succeeded all the same.

"And what else do you consider truth, Mr. Tetch?" she whispered, closing the space between them. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

"Many things, Miss Pleasance." He replied with a smile, "Shall we talk of many things?"

"I do believe we shall, Mr. Hatter." Alice breathed, noting the way he shivered at such a title. She smiled broadly, and he would be damned if that wasn't a _seductive_ smile. "However," she added, fingers moving to play along his lapels, "I think we might move this to a more private location…"

Her hands left his shoulder, a single finger trailing along his chest before departing. She felt his eyes utterly _fixated_ on her as she moved toward the staircase, head only turning once to give him a coy smile, before continuing up the stairs.

The way she felt when his arms wrapped around her and pressed her back into the wall of her own bedroom, his mouth descending upon hers with more passion and released desire than she could have expected, the heat shared in their kiss and their embrace infecting every fiber of her being…

…it was _amazing_.

* * *

The fire was set, flickering and dancing about in the hearth. Golden shadows played across her floor, stretching to the walls to leave their fleeting marks. Outside her window, snow fell in a crystallized shower of winter's touch. Apart from the fire, candles (red in color) were scattered throughout the room, giving a strange, nearly ethereal glow to accompany the firelight.

But Iris' eyes were not for dancing flames or falling snow. Her eyes were for the tall, spindly figure seated in one of the two armchairs resting before the hearth. His long fingers were neatly folded in his lap, his demeanor that as it had been years ago—a lifetime ago, for both of them.

Black eyes gleamed in the glow of the fire as he surveyed his student—ebony hair flawlessly blending with the color of her nightdress, the candlelight illuminating her porcelain flesh and reflecting in her eyes. He was pleased to see she chose not to hide her face from him, though he did hope she reserved such revelations for him and only him.

No one else had the right to see her as he did.

"Good evening, Miss DeLaine."

"Good evening, Professor Crane," she replied, poised and collected as ever, "I was not expecting you."

"Why, Iris, you offend me." He replied, standing slowly and steadily closing the space between them with a few idle strides. "Surely you didn't think I would break our tradition."

"You'll be locked in solitary confinement for this." she said quietly, "Is my gift to be deprived of any hope to see you for the next five weeks?"

"Hardly." Jonathan answered, a hand cupping her face and bringing her eyes to his. "I have until the twenty-sixth to remain at your side, every single minute of every passing hour."

"Such a promise you offer me." She murmured, eyes dark with a very familiar and _very_ inviting emotion.

"Only if you will have me, of course." He added.

Her hands rose to the back of his neck, drawing him near with a smile that promised all manner of _Christmas joys_. "I normally wait until Christmas Day," she purred, "But since Santa has brought me such a lovely gift… I think I'll _have_ it right now."

Her fingers wound in his hair, bringing his mouth to hover mere centimeters over hers. He allowed himself to be drawn closer before tightening his hand around her wrist, a dark smile on his lips. "And have you been a good girl this year, Miss DeLaine?"

"Sorry, Santa…" Iris replied, her leg calmly lifting around his hips with a wicked grin on her lips, "I'm afraid I'm still on the _naughty_ list."


End file.
